


Love and Other Weighty Issues

by meganbagels (Meganbagels)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adoption, Aging, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Body Worship, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Love, M/M, Mirror Sex, Parent!lock, Parenthood, Retirement, Rimming, Shower Sex, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meganbagels/pseuds/meganbagels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Retirement is treating Greg well but age has a way of sneaking up on you. Greg's put on a few pounds post-retirement and is feeling deeply self conscious. Trying to hide that weight gain from his husband definitely isn't helping matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hiding in Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born from a prompt on Kinkmeme: "Lestrade gains weight and becomes self-conscious about it. Mycroft doesn't understand why this man who never cared about Mycroft's weight could be anything but confident in his attractiveness."
> 
> Maggie_Conagher and rougewinter are amazing. They helped me start writing and held my hand while I fretted. They write lovely things, go read their work!

The retirement party was lovely. Mycroft had wanted to throw an additional party at some nice estate or other but Greg had refused saying that one retirement party was more than enough. He didn’t need to hear any more stories about him ending up in the Thames or dealing with angry dogs or whatever else his colleagues might remember. Seeing a very harassed looking Sherlock forced to give a moderately complimentary speech about Greg’s service to the Yard was an unexpected bonus. John was in Sherlock’s direct line of sight and furrowing his brow anytime Sherlock looked ready to waver on the message of thanks and congratulations.

Mycroft smiled approvingly at the praise of his husband and squeezed his hand. “And now I get to have you all to myself.” He murmured.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’ll retire now? You could keep me in bed all day.” Greg said grinning cheekily.

“Mmm, tempting. However, I’m not naïve enough to believe you’ll be kept away for long. I’m sure you’ll be asked to be Sherlock’s liaison, as you’re the only member of Scotland Yard fluent in Sherlock…”

Sherlock concluded his speech “I believe I can say without qualification that Inspector Lestrade has easily been the best and most capable officer of the law that I have had the…privilege to work with here at New Scotland Yard.” He turned to look at Greg “I want you to know that I am saying this under great duress,” he spared a brief glare for John who rolled his eyes “but it is no less true for all that. I am grateful to you and will be sorry to lose you as a colleague. Thank you, Gregory.” Sherlock barely waited for the applause to conclude before rushing off the dais for the reward cigarette John had promised him.

Greg blinked “I uh wow, that was a bit of a surprise.”

“Was it? Sherlock’s not given to displays of sentiment but he is fully aware of the debt he owes you.”

“Debt? Hardly. I think the Yard owes him far more than Sherlock could ever hope to collect on.”

“Have I ever told you what a disgustingly kind and generous soul you are, Gregory?”

“It rings a faint bell.”

~

The first few months of retirement were strange as Greg settled into his time alone at the Mayfair house he shared with Mycroft. He picked up the guitar again and began relearning the chords for Spanish Bombs by the Clash, the only song he’d managed to master all the way through when he was a teenager. He picked up and abandoned several books in succession. He grew a beard, shaved it, grew a goatee, shaved it, and then briefly grew mutton chops before Mycroft said he was uninterested in having sex with a Victorian lithograph and could he please shave it and never attempt historical facial hair again.

Mostly Greg found himself cooking again. He hadn’t had time to devote to preparing meals in years and the joy of being in touch with the food he ate and the food he provided to Mycroft was immeasurable. Greg dug out some of the recipes his grandmother had used and made cassoulet for the first time, undercooking the beans only slightly. He fumbled his way through clafoutis, nailed coq au vin the first time out, and did a pretty reasonable steak au poivre. He took to making quiche each weekend but Mycroft was unwilling to eat just quiche and insisted on a fruit salad and some yogurt with it.

“Gregory you know I can’t eat just eggs with cream and bacon.”

“It’s a quiche! It’s good for you!”

Mycroft gave him a stern look. Greg relented “Alright, not good for you but it’s not the worst thing you could eat. I didn’t just serve you a giant slab of paté for breakfast or anything.”

“Paté is probably marginally healthier than quiche, dear.”

“Is it? Well I guess I’ll go pick up some goose livers at the shop today then”

Mycroft sighed “Gregory, please. I’m very happy that you’ve found something you enjoy doing but I cannot eat this sort of fare regularly.”

“Of course you can. Myc, you look fine! More than fine! You look incredible and handsome and like someone I want to shag as often as you’ll let me!”

“I appreciate that but the point remains. You may make whatever you like but I will not always be able to eat it with you.”

Greg grinned at his husband “I’ve stopped listening. All I can think about is how handsome you look with bed head.”

Mycroft’s hair returned to very soft curls after a night of sleeping on it, with a few tufts sticking up. Greg ran a hand through it and stroked a thumb down Mycroft’s neck before leaning in to nibble on his ear. 

“If I can’t get you to enjoy this fine quiche, what can I offer you that you will enjoy?"

Mycroft brought a hand up to run his nails along Greg’s scalp causing Greg to shiver and close his eyes in enjoyment. “I’m afraid my thoughts are still consumed with my husband’s plans to destroy my waistline with his French lineage and culinary skills” Mycroft said softly.

Greg groaned “Negotiating while I’m trying to get a leg over is not on! Especially when you’re looking so edible.”

“Well, then I think it’s in your best interests to concede the point.”

“What!? My best interests? I’m a fantastic lay! I can guarantee your enjoyment!” Greg huffed in feigned hurt.

Mycroft smiled, baring his teeth in a delightfully predatory manner. “Yes, I know.”

Greg got down onto his knees in front of Mycroft’s chair and wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist, nuzzling the softness of his belly. “Why can’t you just trust me when I say that you are sexy and I will always think you’re sexy. I love your softness and it makes me want to fuck you more, not less! I would still want you like mad even if you gained ten stone and here you’re worried about putting on one!”

Mycroft clenched his jaw at the reference to his body. He preferred to not think of himself as having a physical body at all, if he could help it. It made it easier to dissociate from the failings he found with it. Gregory untied his robe and lifted up his shirt and began making soft love bites on Mycroft’s belly. He relaxed his jaw and sighed, pulling Greg up look into his face. He couldn’t see any signs of mockery but then when it came to Greg, he never could. He was always so earnest about his adoration for Mycroft’s body. It disconcerted him all over again each time he confronted it.

“Myc, will you ever – well, have you ever believed me when I say I love your body?”

Mycroft smiled gently “No. It is an act of faith to believe that you love me as I am and I am singularly unskilled at having faith.”

“How many times would I have to utterly ravish you before you could believe me?”

“Utterly ravish?”

“Shut up, I was reading one of those Regency romances last week.”

“Did it leave you breathless and panting?” Mycroft smirked.

“Oi, I found it on your bookshelf! And stop dodging the question!”

“There is not an answer to your question. We will just have to keep ‘ravishing’ one another and see what develops.”

“Can I start ‘ravishing’ you right now?” Greg asked hopefully.

“Well, it would be a shame to waste a moment when you are already on your knees…”

~

Greg had kept up his exercise routine into retirement, going for a half hour run every afternoon and then doing a round of pushups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. He felt pretty good for 59. He didn’t look as fit as he used to, but that was okay. Being a chiseled 59 year old would be a waste of time. Staying fit enough to chase whatever criminal Sherlock had managed to track down was really the most important measure of health to him.

It was a bit of a shock when he needed to go up a notch in his belt, but retirement usually meant settling into a more sedate lifestyle and he was expecting to go a bit softer now that he was cooking. The love handles were less welcome as were the slight man breasts he’d started to develop. Standing in front of the mirror, fresh out of the shower, he frowned at himself. Was this what he would turn into? His dad had been a bit round as he’d gotten older but Greg hadn’t thought about himself aging much. He was only 59, that wasn’t old. Well, it was a bit old, but he was still running and exercising. How did these pounds find their way onto his body?

He didn’t give it too much thought until he had to go up a size in trousers. Mycroft found him sitting on the floor of the enormous walk in closet next to a pile of trousers and jeans looking pensive.

“Are you alright?” Mycroft asked, taking in the sight of his husband in a sea of trousers.

“Yeah, fine. Just going through some of my clothes. Getting rid of stuff, you know?”

“Do you want me to get an appointment with the tailor? You seem to be getting rid of quite a few trousers.” Mycroft noted, looking at Greg’s absent expression.

“Hmm? Yeah, that would be good.”

“We can go next weekend. I need some new pocket squares anyway.”

Greg looked slightly alarmed “I’ll be fine on my own. Really, I just need some trousers, maybe a shirt or two.”

“I know, but I don’t think I can count on you to pick out pocket squares for me.”

“I just would rather do it on my own. You know how tetchy I get about clothes. I don’t want you to have to deal with me when I’m being a prat.” Greg said with a nervous shrug.

Mycroft furrowed his brow “Alright, perhaps I can meet you there after you’ve finished up? John wanted to meet with us for lunch anyway. I believe he and Sherlock are considering adopting a child.” 

Greg perked up at that. “Really? A kid huh? Well, I guess John is used to looking after things and Sherlock’d probably love having someone else around to be amazed at him.”

“Yes, they seem very pleased about it. Anyway, I shall leave you to sort out your wardrobe. Let me know when you’ve finished.”

“Right. Will do.”

~

Greg tried to eat healthier in the week before his appointment with the tailor hoping that maybe he wouldn’t need the appointment after all. He even started running an extra ten minutes every day. His body seemed indifferent to his efforts however and continued to store away extra pounds. He had gained a stone and a bit after six months of retirement. This did not bode well. At this rate he may as well start wearing track bottoms and have done with it!

In an attempt to keep his weight gain unnoticed he started sleeping with a shirt on after years of sleeping in just boxers. Mycroft had looked at him suspiciously but Greg had just claimed to be a bit cold lately. Mycroft nodded and then snaked a hand under the waistband of Greg’s boxers and cupped his balls.

“Clearly I’m not keeping you warm enough.”

Greg lay back against the headboard and spread his legs a bit wider before slipping his hardening cock out of the opening of his boxers. Mycroft took his hand out of the boxers and began stroking him lightly up and down.

“Are you going to take your shirt off? I promise you’ll be very warm very soon” Mycroft asked while gently mouthing Greg’s nipples through his shirt.

Greg’s breath hitched slightly “No, I think I um chaffed my nipples while running this week. They’re a bit sore”

Mycroft immediately removed his mouth and looked at Greg in concern “Oh, I’m sorry! Would you like me to put some salve on them? I’ll get you some better running attire tomorrow.”

“No, no, really Myc, it’s fine.” He looked down at his cock which had softened while Greg’s mind was preoccupied with worry at having to take off his shirt in front of Mycroft.

Mycroft nodded and quietly stripped off his own boxers and shirt and straddled Greg, sucking softly up his neck before licking the curve of his ear. Greg’s cock showed renewed interest and he nudged his hips up to meet Mycroft’s. While Mycroft was distracted, Greg surreptitiously pulled his shirt all the way down. He debated scrambling out from underneath his husband and saying he was too tired right now but he’d already avoided sex for most of the week. If he didn’t offer something Mycroft would definitely start asking questions. Greg was so often the initiator, it might have already attracted Mycroft’s notice that Greg wasn’t pouncing on him. He quickly reached up and circled his thumbs around Mycroft’s nipples flicking them until they firmed up and ran his thumbnail gently across them. Mycroft shivered at his attentions and nipped hard at Greg’s neck before moving into a bruising kiss that softened into tongues sliding lazily against one another.

Greg tried to relax into it and savor Mycroft’s taste but he was painfully aware of how close Mycroft was to lying on top of his newly softened belly. Greg reached between them, forcing Mycroft to sit up a bit more, and took both of their cocks, stroking them together in a gentle rhythm. Mycroft let his head fall back and thrust slightly each time the heads bumped together. Greg sighed with pleasure at the sight of Mycroft enjoying himself. Even if he couldn’t let himself get too carried away, he could appreciate how amazing it was to see Mycroft eyes closed, flushing pink and taking harsh staccato breaths.

“You are so beautiful, Myc. I love seeing you like this.”

Mycroft gasped and opened his eyes to look at Greg. His hands fluttered a little nervously as though he wanted to cover himself but Greg squeezed the base of their pricks and pulled up, bringing each foreskin over the crown causing Mycroft to grunt and close his eyes again. He put his own hand next to Greg’s, feeling it move up and down. “Ahh – Fuck, keep doing that!” Greg sped up his strokes and leaned up to bite gently on one of Mycroft’s nipples. He came with a startled whimper after another few pulls, grinding against Greg.

He let his head hang forward, his hair falling into his eyes. He took some breaths to collect himself but felt exposed. He hadn’t had sex with one partner clothed, unless he was the one still clothed, in a very long time. It was thrilling to be so bare in front of someone but still triggered that urge to hide and not let his body be seen. This was Greg though, and he’d made an effort to reach out and let Mycroft see how sexy Greg thought he was. The least he could do was try and repay that effort by trusting Greg, even if it felt like he was being asked to walk naked down the high street.

Mycroft pulled Greg’s hand off of their cocks and wrapped his fingers around Greg’s, slicking it up with his own come. He tried to show as much of himself to Greg’s gaze as possible, rather than curling in on himself, and watched with nervous pleasure as Greg reverently ran his hands over Mycroft’s pale form. He shuffled backwards so he could lean down and lick at the underside of Greg’s cock, moaning softly as he tasted himself on that warm and heavy prick. He reached a hand up to touch Greg’s chest but Greg intercepted his hand and intertwined their fingers.

Greg was nervous now that Mycroft wasn’t under the haze of arousal anymore, he’d be much harder to distract from Greg’s body. He threaded his other hand into Mycroft’s hair in what he hoped would prompt Mycroft to focus on sucking cock rather than trying to touch any part of Greg’s torso. Mycroft took the cue and slowly sunk Greg’s cock into his mouth and ran his tongue around the head. He took it in deeply and seemed to get lost in the rhythm of sliding and sucking. His hand tightened on Mycroft’s and he gave a stuttering breath. Mycroft pulled back and fluttered his tongue against the frenulum. Greg let loose a surprised groan, his hips trying to thrust up into the warm flicking sensation.

“How the fuck do you do that?”

Mycroft hummed happily before opening up his mouth and letting Greg watch that pink tongue bouncing against his prick. He inhaled sharply at the sight and gave a shuddery sigh as a slow, sweeping orgasm rippled through him. Mycroft gently licked at each new spurt as it trickled down Greg’s cock until he gave a final shiver and relaxed into the bed, keeping one hand splayed protectively against his belly in case Mycroft tried to cuddle up next to him before he’d had a chance to arrange himself into his least fat exposing position.

“To answer your question, I played the flute briefly.”

Greg looked up from his haze “What? Oh right, the tongue thing. I’ll have you know when I was 17 I dated a girl who played the flute and she never once did that.”

“Perhaps I’m lying then, and I learned it from a renowned courtesan” Mycroft said, kissing Greg’s nose.

“Courtesans don’t exist anymore”

“I was trying to be delicate.”

“Fine, would a ‘courtesan’ give lessons on dick sucking technique?” Greg raised an eyebrow.

“This one did” Mycroft gave him the most neutral of looks.

“You know,” Greg sighed “I’ve been married to you for 8 years and I still can’t tell when you’re lying.”

“Flute.”

“Can you still play?”

“Evidently” Mycroft smiled demurely before wrapping himself in a dressing gown and going to grab a flannel to clean them up with. Greg took the time while Mycroft was in the bathroom to make sure his shirt hadn’t ridden up. Mycroft was going to find out sooner or later about Greg’s weight gain. Hell, he probably had already noticed but was just being polite enough not to mention it. Greg refused to entertain that thought for long. He had to keep this as much to himself as possible, there was no need for anyone but him to see his growing paunch and man boobs. Jesus Christ, he had man boobs! He anxiously scrubbed his non-sticky hand over his face . Mycroft had already settled for an older, grey haired, slightly battered cop for a husband. He at least deserved a reasonably fit one. Greg would get this sorted out; he would just have to try and keep Mycroft from seeing him naked in the meantime.


	2. Awkward Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lovely surprise greets Mycroft and Greg at the restaurant. To no one's surprise, Sherlock is a terrible lunch date and manages to upset everyone. Greg feels miserable and is certain Mycroft is ready to chuck him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maggie for my first ever AO3 comment and rougewinter for the continued support! Thanks also to Nora and Jamie for being unbelievably supportive of this whole adventure. I am endlessly grateful for all of the wonderful and strong women in my life.

The restaurant was quiet for a Saturday, only a dozen or so other patrons scattered around. Mycroft immediately spotted Sherlock and John at a table near a window that looked out over the street. John looked a little harassed but happy. Sherlock was talking softly to a small brown haired toddler on a baby seat nestled between the two of them. Bugger.

“Oh Christ!” Greg muttered. 

Before either of them could say anything the child said “Spwize?” and John attempted to disguise a snort of laughter as a cough. 

Sherlock smoothed the toddler’s hair “Well done Owen, the r’s are still giving you trouble but otherwise excellent. You’ve already managed to upset Mycroft. I think that merits a treat when we get home.”

Mycroft sighed deeply and sat down before extending a hand to Owen, who readily grasped at an offered finger and gave a little squeal “Pleased to meet you, Owen. Welcome to the family" Mycroft looked pointedly at Sherlock. He had suspected the pair might do something rash but had hoped John’s common sense would prevail in this instance. At any rate, Sherlock and John seemed to be adjusting well to the presence of a child in their lives. The slight bags under both of their eyes were telling, as was the stain on Sherlock’s shirt collar [applesauce] but they certainly looked contented together. He would send some suitable child care items over to Baker Street on Monday. Perhaps have the flat child-proofed as well. No doubt Sherlock would find the idea of child-proofing insulting but John would appreciate the practicality of such a measure. That it would annoy Sherlock was simply a fringe benefit. Greg settled dazedly into his chair beside Mycroft, looking at Owen.

“Did he just say ‘surprise’?”

Sherlock bristled at Greg, barely containing his indignation “Of course! You heard him say it.”

John put a calming hand on Sherlock’s elbow. “Babies don’t speak very clearly. I think Greg was just making sure he understood.”

“Owen speaks very well for his age! Easily in the 98th percentile in terms of vocabulary!”

“Love, he’s a baby. Can he just be a baby for awhile?” Mycroft noted that Greg had already checked out of the conversation and was trying to resist the urge to pull faces at Owen. Greg’s children with his ex-wife were very much grown and it was obvious that he sometimes missed having small children around.

Sherlock picked up Owen and cuddled him to his chest. “Don’t listen to John; He’s being dull. I’m afraid he does that sometimes.” John sighed and kissed the baby’s head and then Sherlock’s cheek.

“I’m sure you’ll both survive my occasional bouts of dullness" John sighed. Sherlock looked skeptical and returned to snuggling Owen. Mycroft exchanged a look of quiet shock with Greg. He had been prepared for many things but the sight of his extraordinarily caustic and unruly brother affectionately holding a small child was not one of them.

“Really, Mycroft. I’m surprised you didn’t know about this sooner. I fear you’re losing your touch” Sherlock said lightly as he offered Owen part of a teething biscuit.

“As a favor to yourself and John, I’ve tried to limit my monitoring of your lives. Have you informed Mummy that she is a grandmother now?”

John cut in “We’re going to visit her tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us.” Sherlock looked affronted. “Sherlock, they are going to be a part of his life. He deserves to have a family. You cannot be selfish with Owen like this.”

“Fine” Sherlock huffed “You’re both most welcome to come and make a nuisance of yourselves at our mother’s while we’re trying to introduce her to her grandchild.”

“Rest assured, Greg and I have better things to do than get in between your offspring and Mummy. I do hope you’ll consider us for babysitting though” Mycroft smiled gently at Greg who was jiggling one of Owen’s feet and watching him smile.

Sherlock snorted “Certainly not.”

John looked surprised “Are you certain you’d want to do that? He’s still in nappies and he’s teething right now.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow “look, I’m sure you’ll be wonderful with him, I just didn’t think you’d be the nappy changing type is all.”

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand “I was seven when Sherlock was born; I have changed nappies, John.”

Mycroft saw John and Greg both turn to stare at Sherlock who looked unamused “That hardly qualifies you to look after the wellbeing of our son.”

John laughed “Anyone who could be around you for several years, wiping your nose and arse, without killing you is more than qualified. Besides, I think you’ll be glad of free babysitting after you go shagless for a few weeks.”

Greg grinned “I guess a lot of things have changed since we saw you last then.”

Sherlock muttered sulkily “Indeed, your waistline to name but one of those things.”

Mycroft stiffened, was Sherlock referring to him? No, his weight had remained static for the last two months. He looked at Greg who was blushing furiously and shifting awkwardly in his seat. “Yeah, cheers Sherlock” he mumbled.

John gave Sherlock a thunderous look and growled “Apologize. Now.” and took Owen from Sherlock’s arms.

Mycroft had noticed Greg’s weight gain but Greg always seemed so confident and in control of himself. The signs of Greg’s growing shame about his body became overwhelmingly obvious as he remembered how closed off Greg had been in the last month or so. Certainly the focus on quiche as a weekend food item had ceased very sharply along with an increase in exercise. He hadn’t thought it related to any issues of self confidence in his appearance. After all, Greg had always been reasonably healthy; it seemed obvious that he would return to that after enjoying his new retirement lifestyle. Mycroft felt a wave of sadness for his husband. Greg had spent so much time and love trying to convince Mycroft that he found him attractive no matter what his fluctuating weight did. How could he be so loving to Mycroft and unforgiving of himself? Greg looked miserable and exposed, hunching slightly in his seat and keeping his eyes on the table top. Mycroft had obviously been foolish, even negligent, to think that Gregory was immune to the same crippling self consciousness he sometimes battled with. Mycroft wanted to hold him and make him feel loved. He wanted Gregory to know that every inch of him was precious to him and worthy of worship. He would fix this.

“I’m sorry, Gregory. That was unpardonably rude of me” Sherlock said quietly, looking surprised at his own contrition.

Mycroft smiled coldly at him “I won’t threaten you , dear brother, but may I convey to you in the strongest possible terms how unwise it would be of you to ever insult my husband again” he said, baring his teeth slightly. Sherlock nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Erm, thank you” Greg said to the table at large.

John smiled nervously at Greg and Mycroft “would either of you like to hold Owen? He’s being very good today.” he said, gently bouncing the child in his arms.

“Thank you, but I’m afraid we need to go” Mycroft said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. He leaned over and placed a kiss on the baby’s head. Greg stood up to join Mycroft and gently ran a hand over Owen’s soft brown hair.

“Yeah, um, pleased to meet you Owen. John, Sherlock” Mycroft reached for Greg’s hand and guided him out to the waiting black saloon car.

Mycroft opened his mouth to tell Gregory how much he loved him and what an insufferable prick his brother was but he shut it almost instantly. Gregory was new to this and Mycroft wouldn’t try and force him to love his body. He would just show Gregory how much he still loved it. The ride home was largely silent, although both of their stomachs rumbled slightly from the missed promise of lunch at the restaurant. When they arrived home, Mycroft led him into the upstairs sitting room and poured him a glass of whiskey, handed it to him, and went back downstairs. He was going to do this right. Gregory needed some time to decide how he wanted to handle this. Perhaps he didn’t want to talk to Mycroft about it at all. Although Mycroft wasn’t going to let Gregory continue burying his own unhappiness like this, he certainly hoped some time to think would bring Gregory to open up on his own terms.

~

Greg was in the midst of a panic attack. His weight gain was out in the open now but Mycroft had stood up to Sherlock about it. Other than holding hands and taking him out to the car, he hadn’t touched or spoken to him though. He’d sat in the car hyper aware of the seatbelt pressing into his stomach while Mycroft stared out the window in silence. Was Mycroft disgusted with him? Now upstairs and left alone with a whiskey, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He took a deep sip of the whiskey letting it distract him from the impending end of his relationship. Why else would Mycroft be leaving him alone with whiskey other than to let him come to that conclusion on his own? He couldn’t lose the person he’d spent ten years of his life being madly in love with. He finished the glass and went to the closet. If he was going to have this conversation with Mycroft, he was going to be comfortable doing it. He took off his jacket and button down, exchanging it for a beaten up Vibrators shirt. It fitted quite a bit tighter than it used to but he’d always felt cooler when he was wearing it and figured it hardly mattered now what he looked like if Mycroft might be leaving him. He threw on some soft brown corduroy trousers that felt comforting and cozy. He snorted at his reflection in the mirror. An old, chubby, cuddly pants wearing punk rocker looked back at him. If nothing else, maybe he could get Mycroft to take pity on him.

Mycroft heard Greg’s bare feet padding down the stairs and looked up to smile at his husband. Greg had changed clothes; his weight gain was more noticeable now, as was the slightly stiff way he’d taken to carrying himself. Greg nervously returned his smile and sat down across from him.

“How are you feeling?” Mycroft asked gently.

Greg twitched a little bit at Mycroft’s tone and shook his head “Look, I know this whole weight thing” he gestured to himself “is a – um – change.” He looked at Mycroft waiting for a response. After a brief awkward pause he forged ahead. “I’ll try to get it taken care of. I know I’ve been acting strange lately but I really can fix this. Please just give me a few weeks to sort myself out.”

“What?” Mycroft sputtered.

“Wait, hear me out” Greg held up a hand and looked at the floor trying to get the words out “I know you didn’t get the best deal with me. I’m older than you by a few years and you could easily have got someone ten years younger than you and with a lot less scars and old injuries that act up when the weather changes. I’ve never been anywhere near your league and I’m certainly not easy to live with most of the time, but I love you and I want to be what you deserve. Or at least better than this, I mean.”

Mycroft struggled to take in what Greg was saying. Greg was cringing like he expected to be yelled at. Mycroft was torn between wanting to comfort him and disbelief that this was the same Greg who’d once begged him to have sex on their balcony in the middle of Madrid and shrugged when Mycroft had said people might see them. He’d never been nervous about his body before, if anything he’d been a bit of an exhibitionist sometimes, happily wandering around the house mostly naked after a shower.

“I’m so very sorry, Gregory” Mycroft blurted out in an attempt to let Greg know he’d understood him.

Greg took in a sharp breath “What? Sorry for what? Is this you leaving me? I swear to God, Myc, I can take care of this. Jesus fuck, I wish I’d never made those goddamn quiches…”

Mycroft shook his head vigorously “Gregory, shut up right now.” Greg complied with a pained look on his face. Mycroft let his gaze travel over Greg’s changed body while Greg struggled to keep himself still and submit to that probing look. He looked as beautiful as he always had. The soft mass of his belly made Mycroft’s fingers itch to touch it. Even the little peaks of his breasts seemed strangely appealing. Suddenly he wasn’t the rugged and undeniably handsome DI that everyone called a ‘silver fox’ behind his back, and in a few memorable instances to his face. He was the kind, albeit nervous, husband that Mycroft had somehow had the privilege to marry and grow old with. He was still good looking but he had softened, this was what they had to look forward to. Letting go of what they had held onto so tightly in their working lives and settle into a life centered around one another. Their future became startling obvious to Mycroft, it was starting now. He’d assumed it was going to arrive with some definitive sign but Greg had already started showing him the way. It wasn’t about him gaining weight or spending more time together or even taking the time to communicate like this. It was that they could finally start relaxing into themselves and start forgiving all of the little niggles they’d carried around about themselves and one another. They were being forced into vulnerability by this situation but it was finally safe to be vulnerable and Mycroft felt relief flooding his body. It was really and truly safe. He couldn’t contain the grin that was breaking over his features as he looked at this incredible man that was all his.

“Mycroft?” Greg looked ready to bolt for a hiding place.

Mycroft abruptly stood and offered a hand to Greg. Greg took it and stood up to find himself engulfed in a tight hug, with Mycroft’s face tucked into his shoulder. Greg tried to pull away so at the least his paunch wasn’t flush against Mycroft’s body but Mycroft only hugged tighter before giving a final squeeze and pulling back to look Greg’s face.

“You are absolutely everything to me, Gregory. I do not give a toss that you’ve put on weight. I do not care that you may continue to put on weight. I only care that you are happy, healthy, and most importantly that you are mine.” Mycroft punctuated this with a decisive kiss. Greg was still anxious but let himself sag into Mycroft with relief at his words.

“Jesus Christ, love, you have no idea what a wreck I’ve been about this.”

“I know, and I’m so very sorry Gregory. I, of all people, should have noticed your behavior and spoken up. I’m afraid I was so used to being the one ashamed of my body that it seemed frankly implausible to me that you would ever feel self conscious about how you look.” He brought them over to sit on the couch and pulled Greg close to him.

“I meant what I said though. You could have someone much younger and fitter than me. You deserve the whole package” he said, leaning his head against Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Gregory, I know for a fact that you are not an idiot so please do stop saying idiotic things.”

“You know what I mean! I just want you to be happy. I don’t want to be the thing in your life you regret.”

“No, what I regret is not doing this sooner.” He picked up his phone and dialed. After a single ring a female voice answered.

“Yes, sir?”

“My dear, I’m retiring to spend more time shagging my husband. I know it will take at least a year to arrange but I wanted you to know. You can let the hand wringers know that I’ll continue to freelance as needed but I won’t waste my time on anything less than an 8.” Mycroft smiled triumphantly at his gobsmacked husband.

“Good for you, sir. I’ll begin informing the appropriate people.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Good night, sir.” Mycroft rang off and then waited for Greg to speak.

“You’re retiring? Just like that? You’ve built your life around your work! You’re going to go mental if you have to sit around all day doing nothing!”

“I believe I said I was going to spend more time shagging my husband. That will certainly take up some of my time” Mycroft offered mildly.

“This is absolutely too sudden. You can’t just retire because I’m getting fat! Call her back and tell her you were joking!” Greg reached for the phone but Mycroft deftly picked it up, removing and pocketing the battery.

“I’ve made my decision. I’m choosing this, us. Seeing you like this it’s become obvious that I’ve missed the point.”

“You are being ridiculous. You never miss the point, which is exactly why you do the insane job you do, you fucking wanker. Call her back!”

Mycroft gave him a disapproving look “If you’re name calling you already know I’m right.”

“No, I don’t know. I came down here expecting to have you toss me out on my ear or tell me to shape up and instead you decide to retire from being the British Government?” Greg pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back into the couch in frustration. 

Mycroft gently ran a hand through Greg’s hair. “I saw you look truly unsure of yourself today and I couldn’t fix it. I wanted to fix it and I knew how you must feel when you try to tell me that you find me…attractive. We’re not young anymore and neither of us is very good at being vulnerable but we have the rest of our lives to figure it out and I don’t want to waste time. I think we’re old enough now to be ourselves now and let that be good enough, to know that it’s good enough. I want to be myself with you and I certainly hope you want that too.”

Greg grabbed Mycroft’s hand and held it tightly. “Look at us soppy old duffers” he said, wiping at his now slightly watery eyes. Mycroft wrapped his arms around him “I’m still pissed off at you for springing your retirement on me like that, by the way” Greg laughed weakly.

“Can we fight about it tomorrow? I want to take my husband to bed now.”

Greg looked a little sheepish and mumbled “Can we eat something first?”

Mycroft squeezed him tightly “Stop that right now. You are not permitted to feel ashamed of needing to eat. Now, do you want to order something or shall we cook?”

Greg felt himself drooping slightly “I feel drained. Would you mind if we got takeaway?”

An hour later they were lazing on the couch and pleasantly full of Thai. Greg set his bowl on the floor and stretched out to lay his head in Mycroft’s lap, sighing gently. Mycroft traced a finger up and down Greg’s nose. “I love your nose.”

“I’m glad. I’m rather attached to it myself” Greg couldn’t help throwing in a comedy eyebrow waggle. “Really, Gregory. That was almost unforgivably bad” Mycroft groaned while 

Greg smiled up at him. “Fine, what is the ‘correct’ response to someone loving your nose?”

“I would have accepted a kiss.” Greg sat up and kissed the tip of Mycroft’s nose.

“I love yours too” he said before catching Mycroft’s lips in a soft kiss. It was warm and reassuring to just touch in that familiar way. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment before Mycroft said “come upstairs.” Greg looked briefly panicked but collected himself enough to nod and stand, pulling Mycroft up with him. 

Greg began to tidy away their dishes and takeaway boxes “I’ll meet you up there.” 

Mycroft smiled warmly at him before heading upstairs. Greg took a deep calming breath and carried the dishes into the kitchen, setting them in the sink. His husband loved him and had done for many years; he could certainly get his kit off for him, right? Hell, Mycroft had just retired for him! Letting his husband see that he’d put on a few pounds shouldn’t be this terrifying. He’d seen Mycroft’s weight go up and down a few times over the years and it hadn’t fazed him in the slightest. If anything, there was something charming about Mycroft in his rounder state, something that warmed him about the vulnerability of a naked and plump Mycroft. He took a deep breath and went upstairs.


	3. Show Me You Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own or derive any profit from BBC Sherlock. 
> 
> As always, thank you to Maggie, my study hall mum, whose work Newlywed Blues is inspiring and wonderful. Thank you to Nora and Jamie keep me going and help get me through rehearsals and the long wait until the next season of Sherlock. Thank you to rouge_winter who bounces ideas with me and is a source of support and delight.

Greg heard the sounds of the shower running and stood in the open bathroom doorway watching Mycroft stripping off.

“Are you alright, love?” Greg smiled and stepped into the bathroom. Mycroft stepped out of his boxers and pulled Greg into a reassuring kiss. Greg brought his hands to Mycroft’s hips, rubbing little circles with his thumbs. Mycroft pulled back and hooked his own hands under Greg’s t-shirt before looking at  
him pleadingly “Shower with me?”

“It’s hard to resist a handsome man asking you to shower with him” Greg snorted. Mycroft’s eyes lit up 

“May I undress you then?” 

Greg’s body stiffened and he nodded, holding his arms up. Mycroft peeled his shirt off and tossed it into the hamper and then immediately pulled Greg into a tight hug. It had been almost a month since he’d been able to feel Greg’s bare chest against his own. He could feel Greg trying to suck in his stomach and murmured into his ear “You’re beautiful, love, just relax.” 

Greg released the breath he’d been holding and let his belly fat hang over the brim of his jeans. Mycroft wrestled briefly with the button of his fly before unzipping his jeans and pulling them and Greg’s boxers down to his ankles. He motioned to the shower and Greg stepped out of his puddled clothing and into the steamy confines. This shower was possibly the most opulent part of the house, at least in Greg’s mind. Showers were for cleaning yourself after a day of standing out in the rain and mud at a crime scene and if you still had the energy maybe a wank. This shower seemed to promise endless sensual delights rather than just a place to scrub the muck off. It was easily big enough for four people and had three showerheads, one on either side and a large rainfall shower overhead. They rarely used the rainfall showerhead but Mycroft had turned it on and Greg stepped under it shivering as the warm water soaked into his hair and coursed down his body. 

He felt long arms wrap around his torso and sucking kisses teasing the back of his neck. Greg reached behind to grab Mycroft’s ass, giving it a pinch. Mycroft squealed in surprise and let go of Greg. Greg turned around and paused, fidgeting slightly. He let Mycroft’s eyes trail over his body and closed his eyes, trying not to imagine the faces Mycroft might be making. He felt a tentative hand brush against the curve of his belly as another joined it to, prodding it gently. The hands moved to his small man boobs and he winced. 

“Gregory, you may not want me to address your current gynecomastia but I am genuinely enamored with every single inch of your body, including the parts that you may find objectionable.”

Greg’s eyes flew open and he scowled “I have fucking tits. TITS, Mycroft! I have a dick and some tits. I don’t even know what the fuck that makes me right now but certainly not a bloody man. Hope you’re not as gay as you thought because apparently you have a husband with knockers.”  
Mycroft listened and nodded carefully. “Yes, I suppose I do. I fail to see what the issue is though.”

“I HAVE MAN BOOBS! That is the issue!”

“First of all, they are far from “tits” or “boobs” as you’ve insisted, I doubt they even qualify as an A cup. Secondly, they now allow me to do this” leaning over and taking a nipple into his mouth and biting gently at the breast. Greg gasped at the sudden feeling of wet warmth and stuck out one arm trying to find the wall behind to support himself. Mycroft’s hand gently kneaded the other breast while rolling the nipple delicately between his fingertips. He gave a final lick at the nipple in his mouth before pulling back to see Greg’s flushed face. He looked surprised, aroused, and deeply irritated. 

Mycroft quickly asked “Was that unpleasant? I apologize if so.” 

Greg shook his head as if trying clear it “I’m sorry, it was good, I just hate them. They look ridiculous and I don’t want to turn into some soft old man on you.” 

Mycroft pulled him back under the showerhead and into a slippery hug “I want you to be whatever it is you’re going to be. I don’t give a fuck what that is so long as I get to be there with you and enjoy it.” 

He brought a hand up to tangle in Greg’s chest hair before letting it follow the line of hair down his belly.  
“I love you like this; you look so delicious solid.”

Greg huffed “What every man longs to hear.”

Mycroft smiled wickedly “What if I said I want every inch of you pressed against me until the only thing I could feel is you breathing and rutting against me?”

“I’d call you a cheeky slut and then do this” Greg shoved Mycroft up against the heated walls of the shower and leaned against him, letting himself relax his weight as he started a line of savage love bites along Mycroft’s neck. He felt him squirm and his hands scrabbling at Greg’s back, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he bit and sucked his way to Mycroft’s jaw line. He could feel the pulse just below the skin and growled “Mine. You are all mine, Mycroft Holmes.” 

Mycroft groaned and pulled Greg’s hips flush against his own, trapping their erections between them. Greg pulled at Mycroft’s hair and brought their lips together in a kiss that turned into biting with tongues. He felt awkward and angry with his own body but Mycroft seemed to be reveling in it and in this unexpected roughness. Greg started thrusting hungrily against his husband, trying to shut his own brain off but felt himself being gently pushed away and broke the kiss.

Mycroft looked wild eyed and ready to be fucked in any way that Greg would have him but he shook his head “I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong. I do love you like this, but I’m asking you to perform for me and I don’t want that. I mean, I do want this very much, as you can tell” he gestured to his cock which bobbed against Greg’s hip “but I need to do this first” and he kissed Greg with a decadence and abandon that Greg associated only with Mycroft. When he chose to he somehow kissed as though kissing was sex itself and no greater pleasure was possible. It made Greg dizzy to feel those kisses that were exquisitely unhurried and purposeful; each moment was in anticipation of the next glide of tongues or graze of teeth. Suddenly the shower was silent and he was handed a towel. 

“What?” Greg managed to say. Mycroft was already drying himself off. 

“I want to do this right and part of that is laying you down in our bed and kissing every inch of you until you can’t feel anything but my lips on you.”

Greg whimpered quietly “what else is part of that?”

Mycroft tweaked one of Greg’s nipples and said “Patience, love” before heading into the bedroom.  
Greg quickly toweled himself off before grabbing his dressing gown and following Mycroft. He was lying on top of the duvet naked, smiling expectantly. Greg felt heat rise to his cheeks. In the shower it had felt safe and contained, like the water would wash away the shape of this new body if he let it. Out here in the bedroom, facing a nude Mycroft Holmes, that penetrating gaze was going to take him apart. He squared his shoulders and let his dressing gown slide to the floor and strode naked over to the bed to join his husband. Mycroft had already seen him naked, he just needed to step up and let Mycroft do whatever it was he was going to do, he felt a twitch of interest in his cock. Mycroft smiled appreciatively at Greg’s nudity and pulled him down onto the bed making sure to settle him on his back towards the middle of the mattress. 

“This will perhaps feel awkward to you but try to stay present and enjoy it.”  
Mycroft sighed lightly “I am aware that I have not been a good model for you in this, my own issues with my physical form are very much a part of me at this point. I know that I cannot claim knowledge of how one finds peace with one’s own body but I’d like for you to have that peace and maybe to have that peace for myself one day” he finished hoarsely. 

Greg could see that it cost Mycroft to speak about his own body in anything other than the most abstract terms and he was filled with a desperate desire to hold Mycroft close and do nothing but tell him how beautiful he was until he began to believe it. He saw that desire reflected back in Mycroft’s eyes and reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. They would both have to learn how to let themselves be enough and to make peace with all of the failed expectations about themselves that they’d hung onto. 

“Show me, love. Show me how it’s done.” Greg let himself relax and saw Mycroft beam proudly at him.  
Mycroft scooted down to the foot of the bed and began brushing his fingertips over the silky skin on the tops of Greg’s feet. He bent down and kissed along the arches feeling Greg shiver at his attentions. He nibbled at all ten toes before pulling Greg’s feet together and sucking both big toes into his mouth at once. Greg inhaled sharply and almost shot off the bed. The sensation of Mycroft’s warm mouth around his toes sent tingling waves of pleasure through his body, it felt like there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t straining for more and tremoring in anticipation of what ‘more’ might be. Jesus, why had no one told him that his feet were on a direct line to his dick? It felt like he’d been wasting years not having his toes in someone’s mouth. He wondered if that made him a foot fetishist or not but decided that it probably didn’t since he didn’t want to shag feet and even if it did who the arsing fuck cared if it felt like this? He and Mycroft hadn’t paid too much attention to one another’s feet in the last ten or so years but now that seemed like a criminal waste. Ah well, they’d had plenty of other bits to keep them busy and anyway they could make up for lost time now. 

Mycroft scraped his teeth against the pad of both toes and listened to Greg’s giggly squeak of surprise before moving his mouth to suck at sides of Greg’s knees. Greg whine a little at the loss of Mycroft’s lips on his toes but let himself be carried away by the wash of sensation. His cock was becoming exceedingly interested in this whole affair but Greg was too invested in where Myc’s lips and hands were at any given moment to worry about his cock. He felt long fingers tracing his sides and circling around his navel. Mycroft moved his mouth up the outside of Greg’s thigh and then lifted Greg’s leg up and over his shoulder so he had access to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He went to work tracing the femoral artery with kisses and nips. Mycroft slid himself up between Greg’s thighs, probing at his navel gently with his tongue until Greg was shivering and sucking in his stomach. Mycroft lay his head across Greg’s belly and stroked it reverently and hummed in contentment. 

“I love this part of you. There is now more of you for me to possess.”

“Only you could make my weight gain sound like an imperial conquest, you bloody megalomaniac.”

Mycroft chose not to respond but nuzzled his face against the softness of Greg’s belly fat and kneaded it gently. He traced little spirals in the hair on his husband’s stomach; he licked several broad stripes and then blew gently watching the hair stand on end. He wrapped his arms around Greg’s belly, cuddling it to his body practically purring at the comforting warmth and heft of it. Greg watched him rubbing up against his new spare tire and felt a little sigh of relief that Mycroft, if anything, seemed to be aroused by the weight. Maybe aroused wasn’t the right word but Mycroft definitely seemed happy with it. He kissed it lovingly and traced his tongue aimlessly across it, as if trying to map this new part of him in as many ways as possible. Greg’s nipples were firm peaks by now and Mycroft turned a warmth breath to each of them. He then traced around the areolas lightly, the ridges of his index finger somehow palpable to Greg against that delicate skin. 

Greg shivered and started to turn his body to face Mycroft who was kneeling beside him on the bed but Mycroft brought Greg’s hand up to his mouth and kissed the palm murmuring “No, darling. Not yet.” 

Greg flopped back almost petulantly but was immediately distracted by the wet sucking kisses being applied to his ticklish palms. He felt a hot tongue teasing the webbing between his fingers. It had been years since he and Mycroft had slowed down and explored like this, more than ten years together had turned sex into a fun and loving activity that rarely held surprises for either of them anymore. This was one of those rare times when his mind felt like it was being lovingly stripped apart leaving only the part of him that received sensation. He closed his eyes and sighed happily, letting himself fall down into that floating awareness of his body and everything that touched it. 

A tentative finger traced the shape of his face and followed a meandering path that traced each of his features. First one ear and then a line across his cheek and around his nose then across to his other ear, the finger smoothed the hair of his eyebrows several times before Greg felt soft dry lips kissing his brows. The gentle pressure of lips ghosted across both of his eyelids and then moved away to be replaced by fingertips once more. The pattern traced down the bridge of his nose and made a wide berth around his mouth, slowly spiraling closer and closer around the rim until he was thrumming with awareness of his lips. He felt the barest touch at the seam of his lips and shuddered at the overload of sensation. It sent tingles through his body but it also tickled and itched and made him anxious for more. He waited, purposefully holding himself still and felt electricity at the next drag across the line of his lips. Mycroft continued and Greg felt himself spiraling out of control; he opened his eyes and dragged Mycroft into a fierce kiss. They devoured every inch of one another’s mouth. Greg felt saliva dripping down his chin from the messiness of their kiss. He could feel Mycroft’s tongue skirting around the rim of his teeth while his own tongue attempted to push past and touch everything it could reach.

Greg pulled Mycroft down on top of him, wrapping around him and clinging tightly. He needed more skin, more friction, more pressure, more of everything. He growled in frustration at this wave of need for more Mycroft. He wanted to be consumed by this desire, for both them to go up in flames for this. Greg couldn’t begin to articulate the hunger in himself and instead squeezed Mycroft roughly, forcing the air out of his lungs. Mycroft fought to get his arms around Greg and hug him tighter, biting down on his shoulder until Greg thrashed his head. Mycroft shoved him roughly onto his stomach and flung himself on top of him. The weight was reassuring but Greg fought it briefly hoping for even more restraint. Mycroft grabbed as much of Greg’s hair as he could and gripped it tightly until Greg stilled his movements. 

“Stop. You are trying to control this. You want to run away from the tenderness I’m expressing because you’re afraid. Stop it. Trust me, Gregory. If you don’t want this, you have only to ask me to stop and I will. Otherwise, let go and trust me.”

Greg felt a twinge of shame and lust. He wanted Mycroft to handle him roughly, he could handle roughness and it would be about the sex not about them as lovers who wanted to share themselves with one another. He took several deep breaths and relaxed, letting Mycroft’s weight on top of him push him further into the mattress. “M’sorry,” he mumbled.

Mycroft kissed between his shoulder blades and in a line down his spine to his tailbone before licking his cleft “Apology accepted”.

Greg held in a breath; he felt Mycroft’s thumbs gently pulling his cheeks apart and warm moist air against his hole. Swipe after swipe of tongue trailed along his perineum before slowly lapping at the center. Greg’s cock had been ignored in favor of other body parts thus far and the tension in it was becoming unbearable. He tried rocking his hips into the bed but each thrust took him away from the warmth of Mycroft’s mouth. Mycroft laughed softly behind him and the barest tip of his tongue pressed inside of Greg. The period of fat anxiety had meant that Greg hadn’t let himself be touched like this in at least a month and he could feel his body trying to remember how to open up to Mycroft. There was a return to slow sensuous licks at his hole and then the pressure of a lubed finger sliding into him. Greg bucked against the mattress and grunted. He’d been several weeks without his husband’s cock in him. A finger wasn’t going to cut it but it was a start. The slow in and out even as Mycroft continued licking was torturous. 

“Get on with it!” Greg groaned. 

There was a muffled laugh and the sudden addition of another finger. Greg bit down on a groan and tried to push back and impale himself further. He was wiggling his hips in circles and reveling in the stretch he could feel. A third finger was added more slowly and Greg couldn’t help it any longer, he had to slide a hand underneath his body, just to give some friction to his now leaking prick. Mycroft chuckled lightly at Greg’s growing need, it vibrated against his opening sending sparks through his body. 

“For fuck’s sake! I am begging you, please? I want your fucking cock up my arse!”

Mycroft growled and bit down possessively on one of Greg’s cheeks, ensuring that sitting would be slightly awkward tomorrow. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen” he breathed against Greg’s skin. 

He felt all three fingers removed slowly only to be replaced by one thumb and then another thumb, they massaged and stretched him opening until he could feel the play of air inside of his opening. Then Mycroft slid his tongue into Greg as far as he could while he held him open and Greg screamed. The slick heat of that tongue was moving inside him, pressing and relaxing against the muscles inside of him. 

“F –fu – cking Christ! Oh God, don’t st – aah – op!” He managed between gasps. 

His body was suddenly nothing but nerve endings, the hand he held against his cock had precum dripping between the fingers. He was taking sobbing breaths even as Mycroft kept sliding his tongue in and out, turning Greg into a shuddering mess. He was pushing back desperately, not even noticing that he was nearly smashing his husband’s nose each time. The soft wet noises accompanying each thrust of tongue inside him was the only thing he could hear besides his pleading cries being howled into the duvet.

“Please! Please, Myc! I can’t – Jesus christ! I need you in me!”

He felt tongue and thumbs withdraw and had only moments to notice the strange open feeling before he was being turned onto his back. Mycroft was looking into his face with a depth of love and desire that made Greg’s heart clench. After so many years together, love was a pleasant reality of their lives together but sometimes it could well up unexpectedly and with it the desperate need to claim the other person. Greg hadn’t seen that look on Mycroft’s face in awhile and it sent trills of answering love through his body to have it directed at him so unquestionably. 

Mycroft bent low and murmured “I love you, Gregory Lestrade. I am never going to stop loving you or wanting you, so kindly spread your legs and guide me in so I can show you.” 

Greg was a bit fumbly under the intensity of Mycroft’s gaze but managed to reach around and find Mycroft’s cock and line it up with his entrance. They both breathed out heavily as Mycroft slid into his body. Greg tensed up reflexively but bore down to let Mycroft all the way in. They stayed still and connected for a moment before Mycroft began circling his hips. Greg arched his back as Mycroft began making small gentle thrusts, luxuriating in the feeling of fullness. He wrapped his legs around Mycroft’s middle so he could pull them closer together only to have Mycroft take hold of his hips and begin making long firm thrusts that Greg could feel every inch of. 

Mycroft groaned as he paused to knead at Greg’s belly “You are going to be the death of me. How can I keep my hands off of this? I want to bury myself inside you” he gasped while laying himself out on top of Greg, grinding their whole bodies together. 

Greg’s senses were overwhelmed by Mycroft’s presence inside of him, on top of him, the smell of his sweat and still damp hair, the stickiness of their skin as it pressed together, his aching cock sandwiched between their bodies, the slap of balls against his perineum, the way his eyes searched Greg’s face, watching him come apart underneath him. 

Greg could feel the slow build behind his balls starting to demand all of his attention and gritted out “harder!” as he tilted his hips up to meet Mycroft’s thrusts. 

Mycroft made a desperate grunt and pulled Greg to his chest, rolling them so Greg was on top. He dug his fingertips into Greg’s hips and pressed up into him, brushing firmly over his prostate and making Greg’s vision cloud momentarily. Greg felt Mycroft controlling him as he bounced on his cock and started stroking his own cock at a pace to match the one set by Mycroft. Greg swiped his thumb over the head, spreading the precome, feeling his balls drawing up to his body, his breath hitching more and more, breathing in as the little shocks that meant he was on the tipping point started running up his spine. Mycroft grinned hungrily “come for me, Gregory” and let his mouth fall open and his soft tongue unfurl, waiting to catch Greg’s come. Greg’s mind fizzed and he felt orgasm rushing through his body. Greg clenched around Mycroft’s prick as he ground himself against it while he kept fucking his fist. The first stripe of come marks Mycroft’s cheek but the next spurts hit his upper lips and dripped into his open mouth. The sight of Mycroft shuddering serenely through Greg’s grinding into his cock and looking beautifully open with Greg’s come falling into his mouth dragged a final overwhelmed wave of orgasm from him. Greg’s head felt too heavy and his limbs were useless and rubbery, he almost fell over when Mycroft tipped over into his orgasm and thrust up hard. He held on and let Mycroft finish thrashing against the mattress before pulling off of Mycroft and flopping down onto his stomach, laying his head on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Bloody hell, pet…” Greg panted. Mycroft gave a breathless laugh “Pretty good for a pair of old men, then?” 

“That would have been amazing at 30, never mind 59. Where the hell did that come from?!” 

“It came from the boundless love I feel for my handsome husband who I am going to spend my retirement days fucking in various cultural capitals of the world.” 

“Am I going to be consulted about this?”

“Gregory René Lestrade, would you like to travel the world with me and spend our days bringing each other pleasure in new and exotic locations?”

“Oh full names, is it? Alright, Mycroft Edwin Leopold Holmes, I would be honored to. You do know I’m fine shagging here at home though, right? I don’t need to travel to be happy.”

“Perhaps we can do a bit of traveling and a bit of staying at home.”

“Besides, we need to be available for babysitting duty now that we’re uncles” Greg smiled broadly. 

Mycroft winced a little “Indeed. I should apologize for not having better protected you from Sherlock’s rudeness. I should have seen that you were sensitive about your weight gain. My apologies, darling.”

Greg pulled himself up to sit against the headboard “You knew I was getting fat?” Mycroft nodded.

“You noticed and you didn’t say anything?”

Mycroft felt the nervous tension rising in his stomach again “Yes, I noticed.”

Greg sighed deeply and smiled at his husband “Right, yeah, I guess it was a bit stupid of me to think I could keep a Holmes from noticing something.” 

Mycroft relaxed in relief, moving to lay his head on Greg’s chest “It didn’t matter to me. You look as desirable now as you did the day I first met you.”

“I was in the hospital the day you first met me, getting a stab wound cleaned up and a blood transfusion” Greg laughed.  
Mycroft squeezed himself tightly to Greg, reveling in the rumble of Greg’s laugh against him. “Yes, and you looked exceedingly handsome for a man with a stab wound and substantial blood loss. I never mentioned it but I think it was seeing your legs that did it. You have the most beautiful thighs. I contemplated sending a gift basket to that man for nicking your femoral artery. Sherlock was utterly disgusted with me for having an erection after visiting you while you were being patched up.” 

Greg looked thoughtful “Is that why you wanted to buy me a Speedo instead of swim shorts?” 

Mycroft blushed slightly “It may have been a factor.” 

“And did you really get a hard on after seeing me get my wound cleaned up?” 

“I would have cleaned your wound with my tongue if you would have let me, Gregory”

Greg shivered and his cock gave a weak twitch “Bloody hell, Myc, how can you be doing this to me already? I’m an old man! I need time to rest and eat more fiber!” 

“Hush, you’re not old. You’re perfect. Let’s get some sleep now and perhaps in the morning I can help you with that.”

Greg grinned sheepishly “Would you – erm, ‘play flute’ for me, maybe? That was –well, amazing.”

Mycroft gave a loud bark of laughter and kissed Greg’s chest “For you, my love, I’ll play a whole concerto.”


	4. Love in the time of birthday cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen's birthday party provides a prime opportunity to grow, share, learn, love, and be scarred for life by your mother-in-law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never abandoned, never forgotten. I still loved this prompt even as I fought with it but am glad that I can finally release the finished fic out into the world. Getting this done is a Christmas present to myself and perhaps something of a Christmas present to those who kept gently prodding me to finish it. 
> 
> This might never have been finished if ClassyGirlsWearPearls wasn't the tenacious fan that she is (she's also a great Mystrade writer, go read her stuff). Maggie_Conagher, I would never have even tried to write this at all if I hadn't become friends with her and read her beautiful work. Her work is for anyone that has ever loved and ever put in the time and effort to make love work.

  
  
Three months later  
  
  
  
“Myc, get out of here! I’m perfectly capable of baking a damn cake!” Mycroft grinned at his husband who looked harried and more than a bit splattered with cake batter.  
  
“I’m well aware that you are proficient at baking. Can’t I just enjoy watching you do something?”  
  
“Not if you’re standing there waiting for me to admit that you were right about buying a cake. Owen’s first birthday cake with this family is not going to be from some bloody posh bakery that only you are allowed to order from!”  
  
“John made that point as well. Albeit rather more loudly.”  
  
“Good, us Holmes-husbands have to stick together.” Greg grumbled as he grabbed a stick of butter and began greasing the cake pans.  
  
“Would you like some help?”  
  
“I’d like you to bugger off.” Mycroft ignored Greg and took the wooden spoon from the batter bowl beside the sink, giving it an experimental lick.  
  
“Lemon blueberry.” Greg remained sulkily quiet as he dusted the pan with flour. Mycroft sighed “It’s all fine, my love. Owen will love the cake and John will appreciate it. I’m sure my mother will keep Sherlock on his best behavior.”  
  
“I’m not worried about your bloody brother! I’m just tired, my feet hurt from standing in the kitchen for the last three hours, and I want Owen to have a good birthday!” Mycroft looked calmly at Greg and waited.  
  
“I hate when you do that. Fine, I just haven’t had to really speak with Sherlock since ‘the weight incident’ and your mother hasn’t even seen me looking like” he gestured to his soft middle “like this yet”. Mycroft felt his heart give a little leap of sympathy for Greg.  
  
“You look very handsome. I will punch Sherlock myself if he so much as makes a rude face at you.” Mycroft assured as he slotted himself behind Greg, stroking his chest and stomach.  
  
“No punching. I don’t want to have to fight Captain John Watson in order to protect you. He’s the only one allowed to punch Sherlock and even then, only when Sherlock fakes his own death.”  
  
“What makes you think I can’t beat John in a fight myself?”  
  
“No, this line of inquiry stops now. I’m not having you sizing up John or trying to prove that you could beat  him just so you’ll be right about this. I believe you could win in a fight against John. There, discussion over.” Mycroft snorted indignantly against Greg’s ear.  
  
“I’m not Sherlock. I wouldn’t start a fight just to prove myself right.”  
  
Greg gave a non-committal hum.  “Oh no, you’d never do something so ridiculous.”  
  
“Are you mocking me? I’m only trying to defend your honor” Mycroft nuzzled the back of Greg’s neck.  
  
“Are you? That’s a shame. I’d rather you were trying to compromise my honor.”  
  
“They’ll be coming over in an hour and Mummy will be here before that.”  
  
Greg whined and ground his arse against Mycroft’s crotch. “You can work to a deadline. It’ll be fun, c’mon.”  
  
Mycroft growled and bit down lightly Greg’s ear lobe, tugging softly “Yes, I’ve no doubt that it will be enjoyable but not until after the party. Now, if you’ll excuse me I must go put up some Thomas the Tank Engine decorations.”  
  
Greg stifled a laugh “Uncle ‘Mycoff’ is getting into the party spirit, is he?”  
  
“Sherlock wanted an apian themed birthday party for Owen but John insisted that bees are not a theme for a child’s birthday party, or indeed any sort of gathering at all. So, Thomas the Tank Engine it is. Although I quite fail to see how anthropomorphic steam trains are a more appropriate theme. ”  
  
“You can ask Owen when he gets here. I’m sure he can tell you why he’s a fan of Thomas. I’ll be done with the frosting in a little while, do you need help?”  
  
“I’m sure I’ll manage. Besides which, you’ve been exceedingly handsy and I don’t wish to be a distraction to you” he murmured, running a hand down Greg’s chest and belly before brushing over the front of his trousers.  
  
“Bastard” Greg hissed.  
  
“Anytime, my love” Mycroft said serenely as he pulled away to prepare Owen’s party decorations.

In the end the party decorations were strung and mounted with a care that seemed completely at odds with their cheap cardstock cheeriness. Greg stepped out from the kitchen and into what appeared to be a modern art exhibit. The Happy Birthday banner was artfully hung in two gentle swoops while the Thomas themed mini posters were arrayed in a splash pattern on the wall, in the middle of which was a picture of John and Sherlock holding a sleeping Owen. Beneath the poster display was the buffet table with child appropriate snacks, although the caterer had done her best to turn them into something worthy of Heston Blumenthal, and the paper party hats that Mycroft had grudgingly allowed into the house. Next to the table was a four foot cardboard standee of Thomas with a plume of steam emanating from his stack.

Greg watched as Mycroft surveyed his work critically, and tidied away the packaging for the decorations.  
  
“I don’t understand how you turned 20 quid of decorations into some kind of art piece.”  
  
“The careful use of negative space. Also, as art goes, this is terrible. Possibly worthy of the Turner Prize. I’m afraid no amount of care can make up for smiling cartoon trains.”  
  
“Well, you and Owen will have to agree to disagree. I think I hear the telltale click of your mother’s heels coming down our hallway. Did you give her a new code for the house?”  
  
Mycroft snorted “I wouldn’t presume to insult her like that.”

“Ah yes, like mother like sons. Perhaps next time we can set up a series of booby traps to make your family feel more welcome.”  
  
“Sherlock would probably enjoy that. Perhaps for his birthday.”  
  
Greg felt an arm around his waist and turned to give Violet Holmes a warm kiss on the cheek. She only came up to his shoulder even in her quite impressive heels, but her well cut outfit gave the impression that she was long and lean despite the fact that she was a bit round and had a delightfully plump face that suggested both warmth and a possibly hazardous level of mischief.  
   
“You look beautiful as always, Violet. Did Myc have a difficult enough housecode for you?” Violet smiled and waved her hand dismissively, in a manner that had always made Greg think instantly of Sherlock.  
  
“Hardly, I think he’s trying to go easy on me. Remind him that his mother is far from senile and that he should give me a proper challenge! It’s the least he could do since you two so rarely come to visit!” Mycroft swept his mother into a hug, kissing the top of her head.  
  
“Fair enough, mother. I shall try and respect your wish for difficult puzzles but only if you stop wearing those absurd five inch heels. Once you reach 70 aren’t you supposed to transition to more sensible footwear?”

“Bah! I’m perfectly fine. You should let your mother have her vanities. Besides, high heels make my legs and arse look fantastic.”  
  
“Oh, I see. This is where you use your age to shame me into letting you have whatever you like.”  
  
“Of course, darling! I didn’t bother living this long to be anything other than completely indulged.”  
  
“And you wonder where Sherlock gets it from” Mycroft sighed as Violet playfully wrinkled her nose at him.  
  
“Hmph, you wait until you’re my age. See if Owen lets any of you lot do what you please! Best to model that sort of behavior for him now if you want to get your way later on”.  
  
“Mm, I’ll take it under advisement. By the by, why are you investing in having a ‘fantastic looking legs and arse’?”  
  
“Oh, I just get so tired of everyone always looking my décolletage. I have other qualities, you know!” She winked at a gobsmacked Greg before wandering off to pour herself a drink.  
  
The birthday boy arrived shortly, perched on Sherlock’s shoulders while John brought in Mrs. Hudson and a bag of presents. He looked wide eyed at the decorations and wriggled to be let down. Sherlock knelt carefully and lifted Owen off of his shoulders. Owen made a beeline for Mycroft’s Thomas the Tank Engine masterpiece.  
  
“THOMAS!” he squealed as he stroked the standee reverently. Mycroft came over to stand beside Owen while he petted Thomas.  
  
“You may take that home to decorate your bedroom if you like. It is for you.” Owen gave him a look of quiet awe before hugging his leg.  
  
“My Thomas!”  
  
Greg came over and swooped down to tickle Owen in the midst of his leg hug. Owen immediately crumpled to the floor in a wriggling ball of laughter. Greg knelt down to wrap him in a bear hug while Owen’s giggles calmed down.  
  
“Whaddya think, monkey? Enough Thomas for you?”  
  
“Thomas nice”  
  
“He is. Tell your Uncle Mycoff why you love Thomas so much. He doesn’t understand it.” Greg stood up and brought Owen with him, turning him so he faced Mycroft. Mycroft smiled at how utterly happy Greg looked with a child in his arms and then addressed Owen.  
  
“You like Thomas the Tank Engine?”  
  
Owen looked frustrated and surprised at the slowness of adults. “Yes.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Owen thought carefully for a moment, taking several big inhales as though he was about to speak before settling on “Thomas nice. He a good train!”  
  
“That seems like a good rea-” Greg started before a screech from Owen stopped him. Owen looked indignant at having been interrupted in his thought process. “THINKIG!” he yelled at a volume that caused Greg to wince and Mycroft to wince in sympathy.  
  
John rushed over looking irritated and embarrassed “Sorry, I told Sherlock he’d pick this stuff up. We don’t yell at people, Owen. Say sorry to Uncle Greg, sweetheart.”  
“M’sowry…” Owen looked fairly unrepentant but interested in getting the matter resolved as quickly as possible.  
“Not a problem, monkey. What were you thinking about?”  
  
Owen gave a thoughtful sigh before announcing “Bwrave…Thomas brwrave, like papa and daddy.” Then he reached his arms out for John who took him.  
  
Mycroft looked equally thoughtful “Yes, that’s an excellent reason to like Thomas.”  
  
Greg noticed Sherlock had stopped his conversation with Violet and looked stunned at his son’s reasoning. Violet gave him a little nudge and he move over to John, dropping a kiss above Owen’s ear, who squealed and wriggled in John’s arms, breaking the quiet mood.  
  
“Well, let’s get this young man some cake!” Greg beamed. Sherlock still looked slightly absent minded but nodded saying “Yes, John and I will get the presents ready.”  
  
~~~  
  
The next hour was dedicated to watching a toddler refuse to eat cake with a fork, try to eat ice cream with a fork, finally accept a spoon for the ice cream but only a soup spoon. John handled all of these road bumps with a sense of fond amusement while Sherlock seemed intrigued each time Owen expressed preferences.  
  
He agreed to open presents but insisted on sitting in Sherlock’s lap to do so. The present opening process was much slower than Greg remembered it being, lots of deliberate rips of paper followed by struggling to open various kinds of packaging and occasional irritated refusals of help. He was dumbfounded by how at peace Sherlock seemed throughout it all. Owen squirmed, elbowed him, stuck bows on Sherlock and himself, and was otherwise content to treat Sherlock like an old squashy chair. Sherlock just held out his hand to hold whatever Owen needed him to hold, whether it was bits of paper or newly opened presents, and otherwise left him to approach present opening on his own. Greg could see John itching to help when Owen appeared frustrated but he held himself in check. Greg remembered trying to help his own children with various tasks at this age and the seemingly unaccountable shitstorm of refusal that followed. He had yet to see Owen truly throw a tantrum but John had assured him that even Sherlock had been cowed by the fury and anguish of a howling three year old.  
  
Violet came over to stand near Greg as he watched Owen nearly poke Sherlock in the eye with the corner of a box.  
  
“Does it make you want a little one again?”  
  
Greg laughed “Not sure I’d want to start over now, but Owen is a star. I’d be lying if I said he didn’t make me a bit broody.”  
  
“That’s why you get your own children to have babies.”  
  
“Oh Christ, I should’ve figured that you were how John and Sherlock got Owen so quickly.”  
  
“I didn’t say that!”  
  
“Yeah, well, you hardly need to, do you?”  
  
“I may have dropped a word or two in the right ears” Violet smiled serenely.  
  
“Do the rest of them know?” Greg probed.  
  
“I never mentioned it to them but I imagine they have their suspicions. It doesn’t matter though, I only sped the process, I certainly didn’t break any of the rules that would endanger their ability to keep Owen.”  
  
“I imagine you bent a few though” he said with a longsuffering sigh.  
  
“Hush you, it’s all fine. Incidentally you’re looking very well, darling.”  
  
Greg bristled slightly and muttered “Thank you.”  
  
“Darling, you look like a man that is happy and is truly glad to be living the life he lives. Everything else is immaterial, no matter what you or my children may think about appearances. You and Mycie are finally living life for yourselves and I am happy for you, so I’ll thank you to remove that sour look from your face.”  
  
Greg looked up sharply to see that everyone was still focused on Owen’s present opening before looking sheepishly at Violet. “I’m sorry. Thank you for saying so. It’s been…an adjustment” he said before enfolding her in a hug.  
  
“Age happens to us all; you should have seen Sherlock when he got his first grey hair. It was as though he thought John had only fallen for him because of those dark curls of his. Honestly, sometimes I don’t know how I ended up with such foolish sons and son-in-laws.” Violet patted his shoulder with a grin.  
  
Greg laughed “Well, you bear that cross with grace.”  
  
Violet kissed his cheek “Don’t I just? Now excuse me while I go untangle bows from my son’s hair.”  
  
~~~

After all the presents had been opened, Owen scrambled down off of Sherlock’s lap to examine the pile of presents while adults milled around him. Greg almost laughed at Owen’s single-mindedness. It was like watching Sherlock at a crime scene, all focus and curiosity, filtering out all extraneous happenings around him. He knew that Owen wasn’t biologically the child of John or Sherlock but apparently when it came to nature versus nurture John and Sherlock could override any amount of nature there was to be had. Owen would never look much like either of them, his features were too soft and would never pull off the intensity of either father but he seemed to be developing his own variations on the kind of faces he saw John and Sherlock make regularly. Greg marveled at how distinctive Owen was becoming while still reflecting so many things about John and Sherlock. He wondered if his own children had picked up his good points while avoiding most of the faults he hated most in himself. He hoped so.  
  
He left the adults to interact with an increasingly sleepy Owen and went to the kitchen. Sherlock broke away from Owen’s side and followed Greg, standing quietly while Greg began washing up. Sherlock’s face looked indifferent but his fingers were manically drumming on his crossed arms. Greg looked expectantly at him and then turned back to the dishes; Sherlock would speak when he was ready to. He washed dishes silently for several minutes before he began singing under his breath.

“How do you do it!?” Sherlock burst forth.  
  
Greg dropped the plate he had been scrubbing and it fell back into the soapy water. He turned to look at a very tense Sherlock “What ‘it’ are you referring to?”

“This! Rearing a child! _Loving_ a child! You aren’t an imbecile, you’ve seen what dangers are out there! You’ve seen what most would consider unspeakable murders and mutilations, but you still let your children leave the house, attend school, venture out into the world. HOW?!” Sherlock’s hands were rubbing at his scalp viciously as though he could somehow dislodge his thoughts. Greg was wide eyed at this outburst and quickly grabbed a tea towel to dry his hands while gathering his thoughts.  
  
“I don’t know, really. I let them go out into the world because this is the world they live in and I couldn’t keep them at home forever.”  
  
Sherlock muttered “You could.”  
  
“God I wanted to. I cried so hard after the first child murder case I had after my eldest was born. Susan was worried I’d lost the plot. I took every single feeding that night and didn’t even put Angie in her crib. I just kept holding her, crying every time I thought about the little boy and his parents never seeing him again. Susan made me leave the house the next day. I was going to call in sick but she made me put Angie down and go in. I was so angry at her and I was convinced that something terrible was going to happen to Angie. I think I called about 8 times to check in on them. Nothing happened and they were fine. We caught the guy that killed the little boy and I thought I was going to throw up. He looked so ordinary. He didn’t look evil or sick; he looked just like everybody else and if we hadn’t had a description of him I’d never have fucking guessed this man could have killed someone, let alone a child.”  
“I’ve never made a distinction between any of the victims of crimes I’ve solved.” Sherlock looked a little distressed. “And I’ve certainly never cared about any child until Owen.”  
  
“You were good with Angie and Phillip when they met you.”  
  
“They seemed determined to like me no matter what I said or did. It was a waste of time to try and deter them.”  
  
“I always worried about that with them. They’d have run off with anyone who seemed friendly and interesting. Teaching them to be suspicious of people was a nightmare.”

  
“Do you think Owen will be like that?”  
  
“Might be, but he’s pretty particular. Seems more likely he’d scream if someone he didn’t know well tried to get near him.”  
  
Sherlock looked visibly relieved but still troubled “Loving John is difficulty enough. Loving Owen in this manner is something I didn’t prepare for and I’m not certain I can.”  
  
“Don’t give me your sociopath bullshit. I saw you holding that kid, Sherlock, you love him as much as any parent could ever love their child.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes flickered with anger “But it HURTS! It hurts constantly! My mind is always thinking about Owen, how safe he is, if he’s happy, what I can do to keep him safe and happy, how I can protect him. What terrible things might happen to him.  I haven’t had nightmares as often as this since my time away. I relive so many of the crimes I’ve solved except I’m looking for Owen” Sherlock practically vibrated with fear and shame as a tear tracked down his face “or finding his body” he said hoarsely.  
  
Greg laid his hand on Sherlock’s forearm “Welcome to parenthood. Your badge is in the mail.”  
  
Sherlock looked defeated.  
  
Greg leaned back and carefully looked away from Sherlock “For what it’s worth, I often considered you to be one of my children in a sense and I wanted to protect you. Mostly from things that you didn’t want to be protected from. You barreled ahead anyway and while you didn’t always come out unscathed, you survived and you did more amazing things than I ever thought anyone could do. Owen will be stronger than you can imagine right now, he’ll surprise you.” Greg carefully kept his eyes averted to give Sherlock time to choose how he wanted to respond to that sort of sentimentality.  
  
“I hardly think how I am now is in any way a barometer for the success and wellbeing of my son” came the slow reply.  
Greg looked up carefully and saw Sherlock angrily wiping away tears. “Will this incessant crying ever stop!? I’ve cried more in the last six months than I have ever done until now.”  
  
Greg smiled sympathetically “As you get used to this, yes. Children do things to your brain. Well, I hardly need tell you that. You’re living it. As far as Owen is concerned, I’d say any kid raised by Sherlock Holmes and John Watson is going to be destined for great things. More importantly, he’s lucky to have you two lunatics for fathers. You’re not going to fuck this up any more than any other parent fucks up and you’ll fuck it up far less than most. You won’t be much use to him if you can’t get out of your head and just be his dad though.”  
  
“Papa. He’s been calling me ‘papa’.”  
  
“I had you pegged for a ‘father’.”  
  
Sherlock looked unamused “I’m not raising a Victorian cliché.”  
  
“Wise. Well papa then.”  
  
“I’m not going to make a mess of this, you know. I know what people think of me and I’m sure many people imagine that I might accidentally ignore my son’s needs for days or leave him unattended around toxic chemicals. No doubt some people in our acquaintance have placed wagers on Owen being removed from our care because we are in some way unfit” Sherlock finished with quiet anger.  
  
“I know you won’t make a mess of it. I do trust you, Sherlock, for whatever it’s worth.”  
  
“I find it laughable that you trust me but your trust does have worth. Thank you for that. I know you’ve been avoiding me ever since I commented on your weight.” Greg felt a nervous flush down his back “My brother is very fortunate to have convinced you that he was worth your time and I am grateful that you are part of our family such as it is. I never intended to upset you and I hope my brother has made it sufficiently clear, in ways that I have no interest in hearing about, that you remain an objectively attractive man. He nearly growled at one of the catering staff who was quite unashamedly admiring you.”  
  
“Coming from you, that’s quite heartfelt really. Is this the softening effect of Owen?”  
  
“Do shut up.”  
  
“Sounds like you feel a little bit more yourself.”  
  
“Does the fear ever stop?”  
  
Greg looked thoughtful “It hasn’t stopped for me yet. But it does lessen. As you see them succeed in the world you start to see that they don’t need you hovering over them all the time. You start to trust that they can save themselves from all of the things you want to protect them from. You’re a ways off from that yet, but it will get better.”  
  
Sherlock nodded to himself and abruptly stood saying “Thank you” before giving Greg an awkward shoulder pat and striding out of the kitchen. Greg sat, smiling fondly at the strange man his brother-in-law continued to be, even after close to ten years of John Watson’s social cueing. He abandoned the dishes for later; exiting the kitchen to see a sleepy Owen sprawled across Mrs. Hudson and Violet’s laps. Mycroft was making polite conversation with Mrs. Hudson while John and Sherlock packed up Owen’s haul of gifts. John caught Greg’s eye and motioned him over to a corner. Greg rolled his eyes a bit, it was so like John to do a checkup on someone after they’d spoken with Sherlock.  
  
“So, Sherlock apologized to you, I hope” John offered with a slight waver in his tone, in case Sherlock had massively fucked it up, Greg guessed.  
  
“Yeah, we spoke. It’s all fine. He just needed some parenting talk.”  
  
“He’s a different man with Owen. I’m glad he’s so dedicated, but he gets this terrifying look in his eyes sometimes when we’re out. If I didn’t know him, I’d say it’s like PTSD maybe? He manages it well, but I can tell it’s hard on him.”  
  
“Does he not talk to you about it?”  
  
John shrugged tiredly “Sometimes, but you know how difficult it is for him to have feelings like the rest of us mortals.”  
  
“He’s not used to caring this much, I guess.”  
  
“No, not like this. But my God does he care. I feel like I’m failing Owen because I don’t care the way Sherlock does.”  
  
“Christ, you two are peas in a pod. Look, that’s a normal feeling and you’ve only had him a couple months. Some parents love instantly, some take time to adjust first and find where they fit into their child’s life. You’re both raising a great son and he’s very lucky to have you two. You love him a lot and you’ll love him even more as time goes on and you start to become more and more of a family. Don’t be so hard on yourself, yeah?” Greg laid a gentle hand on John’s shoulder.  
  
John breathed out shakily and nodded “You’re right, of course. I just want us to be happy and give him a loving home.”  
  
“Trust yourselves and trust each other. Children teach you how to raise them; you just have to pay attention. That’s what my mum told me.”  
  
“Did it work?”  
  
“At the time I think I was too much of a nervous wreck to pay attention, but she wasn’t wrong about that.”  
  
“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”  
  
“She was. But you and Sherlock are wonderful men and you have a wonderful son. I couldn’t be happier or more proud of you two” Greg beamed.  
  
“Thanks” John smiled warmly “but don’t think your heartwarming ways will get you out of babysitting duty!”  
  
Greg shook his head “Didn’t even cross my mind. ‘Sides, Mycroft would kill me if I passed up even one chance for us to babysit. I think Owen makes him a bit broody.”  
  
“I heard that, darling” floated across the room from Mycroft, who was speaking with his mother and Mrs. Hudson.  
  
John laughed “Don’t think we won’t take advantage.”  
  
Mycroft countered lightly “I was rather counting on it. I fear Gregory and I are well past our child bearing years.”  
  
“Not for lack of trying! If either of you was a woman this house would be full up with little ones!” Mrs. Hudson chimed in before quickly covering her mouth and grinning. “Oh, champagne always does this to me.” Owen had woken up and was snuggling into Violet’s side as she stood up, trying to get more cuddles.  
  
She gave Owen a quick squeeze before putting him down and saying “We’ll have to get you some more champagne! I can tell you all about their first visit home as a couple. I thought I’d never see either of them unless I somehow stumbled across them mid-coitus in some corner of the house. Sherlock and John are just as bad, but I don’t have to tell you that, do I?” Owen wandered over to look in the bag that Sherlock and John had filled with presents.  
  
Mrs. Hudson shook her head fondly “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to tell them no sex on the stairs or landing but once those two get in from a case, it’s best to just put in earplugs and wait it out.”  
  
Violet looked sharply at Sherlock “I certainly hope you clean up after yourselves. You’re not teenagers, and no one should have to tidy up your ‘leavings’”  
  
Sherlock looked appalled and affronted while John looked like he wanted to die. Mycroft’s face was so blank it looked like he was having an out of body experience, which Greg wouldn’t put past him, while Greg was trying his best not to give into laughter.  
  
Mrs. Hudson put a hand on Violet’s arm “It’s alright. They’ve never left a mess” and then dissolved into giggles “Just the occasional pair of pants” she then whispered quite loudly “and once or twice a pair of knickers!”  
  
Violet looked fondly at Sherlock who looked as though his mind was whirring out of control “Oh honestly, darling. You didn’t invent the practice. Calm down. God knows I’ve seen enough men in silky knickers to know that.” She gave a light eyeroll and turned to Mrs. Hudson “men always think they’ve invented everything.”  
  
Greg managed to halfway stifle a bark of laughter.  
  
Violet turned to him with a raised eyebrow “Let’s not cast stones, love. I think I saw someone in a very fetching bridle and bit if memory serves…” Greg closed his mouth with an audible click.  
  
Mrs. Hudson cooed proudly “Aw, haven’t you got such adventurous boys! My husband never would have been that brave!”  
  
Violet gave a small sigh “Neither was mine. I suppose they get all that from me. You should come with me to Spain next month. I know a few places where our maturity is given the reverence it deserves and the men are incredibly open minded in the bedroom!” she said as she led Mrs. Hudson to the front hall. The men could all hear Mrs. Hudson’s pleased giggle as they continued their conversation.  
  
Mycroft cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at Greg and John “I suppose it’s useless asking either of you to refrain from comparing notes on our respective proclivities…?”  
  
Greg looked at John and prepared to disavow any intention of finding out more about the knickers (even if Myc really had the arse for them and where did you get some that fit accommodated a cock and balls but were properly silky anyway?) when Sherlock croaked “Both of you promise me that you never intend to tell either Mycroft or myself about anything you two discuss regarding sex, and I’m content never to speak of this again.”  
  
Greg waited for John’s quiet “I promise” before adding his own.  
  
Sherlock then picked up Owen who had remained absently absorbed in his own explorations of the gift bag, nodded at Mycroft and Greg, and headed for the front hall and out the door. John looked embarrassed but content to deal with his traumatized spouse. He picked up the bag of presents, remembering to grab the standee, and after giving Greg a look which Greg had come to know as the “Holmes Husbands” look that signaled the need for alcohol and conversation away from their husbands, said “Thank you both for hosting this and for the presents. Owen is going to be beside himself to have the Thomas standee in his room. I’m just…thank you. Having you for a family is the best thing I could hope for Owen.” John then navigated his way after Sherlock, careful not to injure the beloved standee.  
  
  
Greg turned to Mycroft and asked gently “You okay, Myc?”  
  
“I sometimes suspect my mother to be pure evil…I’m torn between wanting to never have sex again and wanting to fuck you this instant against any available surface. That bit and bridle really did suit you, love.”  
  
“Let’s go with the second one. Earlier today, one of us was being an insufferable cocktease and I think that person needs to make some quite serious amends.”

Mycroft dragged his teeth carefully over Greg’s neck “What sort of amends did you have in mind?”

Greg sighed and leaned back against the closest wall and dragging Mycroft to him. The two of them shared kisses that veered from seduction into possession and then into lazy aimless licks into one another’s mouths. Greg sucked at Mycroft’s collarbone with reverence before looking up at his with a dozy smile. “Let me make you come?”  
  
Mycroft’s eyes widened for a second “Are your certain you understand how the process of making amends works?”  
  
“For me, what I want right now is to see you come all over yourself.” Greg could see the shiver run through Mycroft.  
  
“Please” came the soft reply.  
  
Greg took Mycroft’s hand and made him lead as they went up the stairs, playfully stroking Mycroft’s arse as it bobbed in front of him. In the bedroom they both stripped themselves quickly and wrapped one another into a tight hug, grinding their whole bodies against each other trying to feel as close as possible. Greg pulled Mycroft into the bathroom and stood him sideways in front of the mirror. This was going to be for both of them. Mirrors weren’t the best friend to either himself of Mycroft but you’re never to old to learn new tricks, he figured. He attacked Mycroft’s neck and chest with kisses, sucks, licks, nips. He stuck his first two fingers into Mycroft’s mouth and let him suck greedily on them, covering them in thick trails of saliva before taking them out to trail them up the underside of Mycroft’s balls, pushing against his hole.  
  
Mycroft wriggled and Greg smiled warmly at him “Just trust me, this is going to be fucking lovely.”  
  
He arranged himself on him knees with some towels for cushioning and took Mycroft’s cock in his mouth. He listened and was rewarded with that surprised exhale of breath that Myc always gave when he felt Greg’s mouth on him.

Greg pulled off and looked intently at his husband.  
“Watch me in the mirror, Mycroft. You’re going to count how many times I bob my head while sucking on your cock. You get 50 strokes to come, if you don’t come then, we’ll have to arrange something else. Count out loud starting now.”  
  
Greg used the first few strokes to make certain that Mycroft’s cock was well coated in saliva. He could hear the shaky numbers as Mycroft counted. He swirled his tongue around the head and heard Mycroft give an aborted gasp as he grunted “14”. He wasn’t actually interested in Mycroft coming during this blow job, but letting him focus on a task always made him less focused on his own hang-ups. Greg fumbled in one of drawers for some lube and managed to get some on his stomach, the floor, and finally on his fingers. He kept up his slow measured sucks as he slide a finger into Mycroft’s arse. He curled the finger slightly and gave a gentle tug at the tight ring of muscles, letting them stretch against the pressure. Mycroft’s voice cracked on number 37. Greg started flicking his tongue against the head and sucking Myc’s cock back into his mouth, at which Mycroft whimpered and curled his toes in frustration. Greg didn’t speed up but he added another finger and scissored them as best he could at that angle. Mycroft reached 50 with a disappointed groan as Greg removed his fingers and his mouth from him, but yanked Greg up to kiss him and grind their cocks together as much as he could.  
  
Greg threw himself into the kiss getting lost in the intensity of it. He pulled away and turned Mycroft to face the mirror, maneuvering himself so that he was behind him but still able to make eye contact with himself in the mirror. The two of them looked wrecked. Hair askew, red splotchy flushes, love bites, saliva drips, glassy eyes, a few scratch marks, cocks that looked ready to burst, all on top of their usual aging frames that had the odd liverspot, wrinkles, loose skin, places that were a little more gaunt than they should be, places that were a little bit fatter than they should be.

Greg grinned at Mycroft’s reflection “We look bloody amazing. We look like two people ready to fuck each other’s brains out.” Mycroft smiled back a little bit nervously but too ready to come to worry about the mirror overmuch.

Greg said “Face the mirror and watch closely. I’m going to make you come all over yourself.”  
  
Mycroft’s cock twitched and he gave a desperate little moan in his throat. Greg  put his thumb into Mycroft’s arsehole and then nestled his cock between the arsecheek, fucking between them slowly. With his other hand he reached around to stroke his husband’s cock. Mycroft thrashed his head but kept his body still.  
  
“How close are you?”  
“So close! Make me come!” Greg could see Mycroft was whimpering and tensing his thighs in an attempt to control himself and not fuck Greg’s hand.  
“You’re doing so well. Stay still and watch yourself. I want to watch you see yourself come for me.”  
  
Greg sped up his hand and switched to fucking Mycroft’s arse with his first two fingers again. Mycroft was keening as he approached the edge. The in-out slide seemed to drive Mycroft higher and higher until he drew in a quick gasp and then let out sobbing breaths through his orgasm. Come spurted from him as he made eye contact with Greg in the mirror, seeing the devouring look in Greg’s eyes appeared to drive him into another strong spasm that made him double over and clench his eyes as the orgasm spun through him. Greg felt the twitches in Mycroft’s cock weaken and helped pull him into the shower where he let him lean against the heated walls and be rinsed in hot soapy water.  
  
“Toss off onto me” Mycroft managed to say at last with quiet hunger. Greg leaned up close to Mycroft and stroked himself to an orgasm that was only made better by Mycroft’s contented sounds when he felt Gregory’s come hit his skin. Greg clung to him under the hot water and they looked at each other with muzzy post-coital smiles.  
  
“You looked amazing in that mirror.” Mycroft sighed.  
  
“Mmm, you looked incredible yourself. I actually thought for a second I might come just from seeing you come.”  
  
“Maybe we can pursue that possibility next time?”  
  
“You’d be okay seeing us do that again?”  
  
“If you would, I’d like to experiment further with it.”  
  
Greg nuzzled Mycroft’s chest “You know, when we aren’t tearing ourselves up about how we look, we’re a pretty good looking pair. Maybe we should consider porn.”  
  
Greg could feel Mycroft’s contemplative hum vibrate against his cheek “The blackmail possibilities are entirely too great to risk it but I appreciate your vote of confidence.”  
  
“I’d pay to see us fuck”  
  
“Well, marriage means getting to watch us fuck for free”  
  
“I want everyone to see how beautiful you are though.”  
  
“You think I’m beautiful and I’m…content to consider myself not unattractive. That will have to be sufficient, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Mm, I suppose”  
  
“What about you, Gregory? Do you feel ‘beautiful’?”  
  
“Maybe not beautiful but having you in my arms suggests I have something go for me.”  
  
“You’re an idiot, dear.”  
  
“You’re an idiot!” Greg retorted, playfully nipping at Mycroft’s ear.  
  
“Fine, we’ll be beautiful idiots together and fuck our way through retired bliss” Mycroft sighed with a grin.  
  
“Sounds perfect.”


End file.
